Our trip meandered past various signs for fresh produce, with one farm advertising prei (leeks), another selling witloof (chicory). A highlight was undoubtedly the roadside aardbeienautomaat, with baskets of fresh strawberries waiting for purchase behind the small glass windows of a vending machine.

But the quest on this occasion was asparagus. We are currently in the midst of asparagus season, which began in March and runs through June. On my West Flanders outing, I was headed for the Oostrozebeke farm run by Kris Bossuyt-Dewitte, selling "Verse Asperges", with the www.verseasperges.be website to match. The small, industrial shop might be short on charm, but the fresh smell of cut asparagus greets you at the door. There are only two refrigerated cases, boasting a connoisseur's selection of white asparagus.

First, you have to choose your thickness; the asparagus is divided into thin, medium and thick stalks and sold in half-kilo bundles. I also had to consider whether I preferred the asparagus pre-peeled or not. (The answer: buy both.)

A marvellous machine in the shop area peels and washes the asparagus stalks - I suspect it strongly contributed to the lovely aroma of the room, but it is also mesmerising to watch each stalk feed through the machine, leaving behind curls of peels in a fluffy
pile.

The peels do not go to waste. We were given a plastic bag-full for free for the soup we would be making later that day. But we also purchased intact "soup asparagus", the less pretty, more crooked stalks that don't quite make the cut as pristine "white gold",
white asparagus' nickname in northern Europe.

Actual soup is also available, along with asparagus croquettes, asparagus tips and green asparagus.

White asparagus is a relatively new addition to my culinary vocabulary. Growing up in America, asparagus was almost invariably green; the white variety was only available on occasion in specialty shops.

I'm not clear why it hasn't made the same impression on the American palate. They are, after all, the same plant, although the white stalks are harvested while still underground, before sunlight activates the chlorophyll, turning the plant green. Undoubtedly
there is a scientific explanation linking this biological process to the change in flavour, resulting in a green stem that's more bitter and a white shoot that's more delicate.

My kitchen guru, Mark Bittman, author of How to Cook Everything and food columnist for the New York Times, just this month suggested a recipe for "asparagus pesto," replacing the aromatic basil of regular pesto with green asparagus. The recipe
could hardly be simpler: cut your asparagus into small chunks (with the peel still on) and boil for 10 minutes. Then purée in a food processor with a clove of garlic, some grated parmesan, pine nuts and lemon juice. Fiddle with the proportions to suit your taste, and use it like you would use any other pesto. Although Bittman's recipe called for green, my white asparagus served just as well. It was a nice alternative to Asperges op Vlaamse wijze - of which I am most certainly a fan, too - and an unusual opportunity to use the white stems without peeling them.

Contact Bite at flandersbite@gmail.com

Vlasstraat 7, Oostrozebeke
Mon-Fri 16.00-18.30; Sat 10.00-18.00; Sun 10.00-12.00
Fresh (truly) white and green asparagus right off the farm, with a peeling machine to boot